


Everything That Makes Us Human

by portraitofawriteronfire



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitofawriteronfire/pseuds/portraitofawriteronfire
Summary: Eve wants to catch Villanelle and what better way to do so by capturing her attention first and foremost?With the help of MI6, Eve paints herself as a rival assassin obsessed with outwitting Villanelle at every turn. The deeper she gets, the better chance she has of catching Villanelle...or losing herself in the process.Villanelle just likes to watch people come undone. And she's got her eye on Eve.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 82





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been years since I've written any fanfiction, but I'm quarantined and I rewatched all of Killing Eve seasons 1 and 2 in preparation for season 3, so here we are.

Eve was sick to death of apples. The way she could bruise her lips biting into one just out of the fridge. The way red skin parted beneath her teeth to reveal white, tasteless flesh. The dribble of juice that leaked out and tasted of nothing but apple-flavored water.  


She could carve holes in them, of course. Or peel them entirely. But there was nothing like a personal touch, a message, when it came to murder. She'd studied assassins long enough to know that.  
Of course, she hadn't killed the woman herself. They didn't give her that kind of leverage. And she didn't want it. To sit in the same room with the bodies quelled enough of her curiosity that any other desires she had remained firmly planted. Claiming the kills as her own was more than enough.  


Her dark eyes roamed over the crime scene. The agents who did the dirty work rarely followed her direct instructions. They tended to go rogue in some regard or another. Here, it was how they'd positioned her. Spread over the dining room table on her back like a feast instead of stretched out L-shaped over the kitchen counters. But a body was a body and it wasn't, technically, her job to detail the specifics. She just had to know enough about how they'd died to make it seem like she'd done it. And she had to decide where to put the apple, of course.  


Eve took the woman's left hand in her own. She pried her fingers back. They were beautiful fingers. Long, nicely manicured. Oval-shaped and painted the same pale pink of her quickly paling skin. She placed the apple in the dead woman's palm, bite side up, and wrapped her fingers around it. 

"Any issues?" Elena asked, falling into step with Eve the minute she stepped back into the office.  


"There never are."  


"Somehow that makes the whole thing a little boring." Eve glanced at her and Elena shrugged. "Not the murder bits. Just your bit, after. Was she the right woman?"  


"We'd be screwed if she weren't. But, yes. Helena Reed, age 34. Primary school teacher, former girlfriend of Albert Ahmed, a married hedge fund manager with too many offshore accounts to name and half a dozen—"  


"Do we know for sure that's who Villanelle was targeting?"  


Eve sank into the chair at her desk, spinning a bit before coming back around to face Elena. She took a sip from the mug on her desk. Coffee, not hot, but warm enough. "There's no knowing for sure when it comes to her. Hence our little operation."  


Eve grimaced. As if murder were inconsequential enough to be little or organized enough, even among professional spies, to be considered an operation.  


"I'm just wondering why, if we know who she's targeting and when, we can't just wait for her. Y'know, get the drop on her, catch her in the act, see her red-handed." Elena looked momentarily thoughtful. "I guess literally in this case, since she'd probably be covered in—"  


"Knowing who she's going after isn't the same as knowing when. We don't know the order of the targets. Just that killing them will get her attention."  


Elena wrinkled her nose, settling herself into her own chair across from Eve's. "An assassin's attention is the last thing I'd want."  


"Good thing it won't be you she's focused on then, hm?"  


"Hey, how many d'you think the guys'll have to kill to get her to recognize you?"  


"Recognize me?" Eve’s heart beat faster at the thought of the assassin knowing what she looked like, at the idea of being able to be picked out of a crowd.  


Elena waved a hand, gesturing vaguely. "Y'know. Your whole apple schtick. Eve, pissed off mother of humanity."  


_As many as it takes,_ Eve thought.  


"As few as possible," Eve said. She hadn't become a spy to kill people, after all. Or even pretend-kill them. She'd done it to save them. 

  


Surprisingly, no one had objected too hard when she'd broached the idea. She hadn't done it all at once, just a couple of meetings at a time. Planting the seed, watering it, weeding it. It'd been Plan Z as far as alphabetical planning went, but it had been their best bet. It had also been the most illegal of their plans which, admittedly, was saying a lot.  


"You understand that any support you have will be off the record," Carolyn had said. They'd been in a meat market and the older woman's attention had been focused entirely on a link of cheddar-stuffed sausages. "We don't kill people in order to catch assassins. It's counterproductive."  


Eve had understood. She'd said as much. "But we do catch assassins. This will let us do that."  


"And there is the matter of the local police to deal with in whatever city the target happens to be in," Carolyn continued. She pointed at the sausages, her expression brightening incrementally. "Would you look at that, they're on sale."  


Eve nodded absently at the sausages. They were a dollar off per pound. Not much of a sale. "I have your permission then?"  


"You have my acknowledgment. And a team of agents. Do with them what you will.”  


Eve had. She’d sent two agents to Beirut the next morning with instructions and an apple. For the next murder, she’d gone herself and bit into the apple at the scene. That one had been a bloodbath—they’d needed some sort of flair about it to catch Villanelle’s attention. Her mouth had tasted like nothing but apples and blood for days.  


By the third murder, the taste had all but gone away.  


***

  
Villanelle was…annoyed. Someone had beaten her to a job again. No, she corrected herself, not someone.  


“ _Eve,_ ” she said aloud, tasting the name on her tongue.  


She bit into the apple in her hand with a crunch like breaking bones and spit the mouthful over the balcony onto the sidewalk below.  


It would not do. Eve was making her look bad and Villanelle did not look bad. She made sure of it, in her kills, in her clothes. But if she couldn’t complete her jobs she didn’t get paid and not getting paid meant not going shopping. No new clothes and no new jobs meant no newness. And no newness meant no change. It meant everything stayed the same. Everything remained boring.  


Villanelle would rather have her throat slit with a dull knife than be bored. She’d do it herself if she had to be bored for much longer.  


But she wouldn’t have to be. If she couldn’t kill her targets because Eve got to them first, then she’d just have to kill this Eve. She would make it special for her. Find a vat of caramel to dip her in, maybe. Or cut her into slices. Or see how many whole apples she could shove down her throat before she choked.  


Villanelle took another bite of her apple and tossed the rest of it over the balcony, laughing as someone below cursed up at her. Killing Eve would be fun, yes. But it would also be over too soon. If she let her live, she could see what else she did. Who else she would kill, where else she would leave her apples.  


Eve was taking her jobs but she was something new. She was change. She was…interesting. Villanelle would let her live as she long as she remained so.  


But first, she wanted a closer look.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle and Eve meet. Sparks fly.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be asleep. I have (remote) work in the morning. Feel free to comment what you think/want will happen next because I'm definitely playing this by ear.

Villanelle watched three people leave the building. Police, by the look of them. Dressed in boring, forgettable black, they had a stiff way of walking without actually paying attention to the world around them. Like whoever came into contact with them would find trouble. Like they couldn't contemplate the idea that trouble could find them instead. She smiled, imagining hunting them down. Imagined the surprise in their eyes when she stuck a knife in their ribs and watched them stumble, fall.  


But she wasn't there for them. She wasn't even there for the man in the loft apartment who she'd planned to strangle from the track lights. No, she was there for Eve. She'd wait for her all night if she had to.

***

Eve arrived twenty minutes before the cops did, as usual, just before the sun came up. She barely paid any attention to the body, a red-haired man in a lab coat. The agents had made this one quick, she noticed as she bit into an apple. Just two shots to the head. Boring, but not every one of her claimed kills had to be exciting, she guessed. They just had to have her signature.  


She spit the mouthful of apple into the trash and put a hand on her hip as she tried to figure out where to put it. She could wedge it just under his chin. Or in his mouth. Or try something with his foot, she'd never done anything with feet before...  


"Sneaky little Eve."  


Each word was a reverberation off the warehouse walls, punctuated by the slow click of heels. "You didn't kill that man yourself."  


Eve paused and turned on her heel slowly. There was Villanelle in front of her. In the flesh. Not a mug shot pinned to a board or a grainy face on a security camera. But a human, living, breathing, talking. Capable of being killed as much as she was of killing.  


"No," she admitted when she found her voice. Her eyes were glued to Villanelle's face. "I didn't."  


Villanelle stepped forward. Eve held her ground. But the assassin kept walking, kept making her way closer in graceful, easy motions. She walked like she was dancing, like she wasn't moving at all. She walked like everything got out of her way--people, air, even gravity. But not Eve. She stayed rooted to the concrete floor, the carefully regulated cold of the huge room bringing goosebumps to the surface of her skin.  


Villanelle paused only when their shoes were kissing. Her sleek heels pressed against Eve's practical flats. She smiled slow, a stretch of red lips and gleaming, predatory teeth. Eve's breath caught in her chest. Not at the sight, but at the imagined feel of those teeth pressed deep into her shoulder. Villanelle would bite hard enough to draw blood, she was sure of it.  


"You are a cheater." Villanelle stepped around Eve, circling her, with measured steps. Spiraling closer. "A liar." She didn't sound angry. She sounded curious. "Taking credit for work that is not yours. Taking jobs from me." She paused again, abruptly, in front of Eve. Her eyes gleamed. "That is rude."  


Eve drew herself up with a deep, slightly shaky breath. "So is killing your way across the world. Vienna, London, Berlin, Paris. The list goes on."  


Villanelle's lips curved up in pleasure. "You have been watching me." It wasn't a question.  


"Yes."  


"And what did you think?"  


"I think you're very good at your job. I think that you have flair. I also think you're easily bored."  


"And what else?"  


"You like attention."  


Villanelle leaned closer. "What else?"  


"You..." Eve swallowed, her throat dry. "You rarely kill the same way twice. You tailor your kills, not to fit the crime, but to fit the person. Or your mood."  


"What. Else?"  


"You don't care what they did or whether or not they deserve it. You don't know care who wants them dead. You just like to be the one to do it."  


Villanelle tilted her head slightly and pressed a hand to Eve's cheek. Eve winced automatically and her smile grew. She followed the natural curvature of Eve's cheek until she had Eve's face cupped in her palm. "Why do you think so?"  


"You don't bother hiding yourself. Your fingerprints, your style, not even your face. You're proud of yourself."  


"Aren't you proud?"  


Eve startled. She frowned. "What?"  


Villanelle's smile went sly at its edges. "When you do good work. Aren't you proud of yourself? Like now." She brushed her thumb roughly over Eve's lower lip, wiping away faded red lipstick. You've caught me. Are you proud?"  


Eve stayed silent. She was too aware of Villanelle's hand on her face, its proximity to her neck. She could kill her before Eve could blink and that would be it. She would be gone. Understanding warred with fascination as something sank in. The final piece of everything. The fruit of so much watching, and so much death.  


"You like to watch," she breathed.  


She'd caught Villanelle off guard. The assassin raised her eyebrows. "What?"  


"You like to watch them die. Most of your kills happen up close, face to face. You want to watch what's happening to them as they die. Maybe you want to see how they feel, or how they're processing it, but I don't think so."  


"What do you think, then?"  


Both their voices were hushed, low. Eve's in contemplation. Villanelle's from wariness.  


"I think the only time you feel anything is when you're watching the feeling drain out of someone's eyes. That's why you do it. You like to watch people come undone."  


Villanelle didn't react. Her eyes stayed blankly fixed on Eve's. Her jaw didn't even tick. Finally, she smiled, a slow unfurling. "The money is nice too."  


Eve had to ask. She had to hear the answer. "Are you going to kill me?"  


Villanelle was silent for a few breaths. Eve could feel them on her face, warm and smelling slightly of mint. "Should I?"  


"Probably." Eve laughed, the sound slightly shaky, and wasn't sure if it was from amusement or an abundance of fear.  


"Mm."  


Villanelle's hand traveled down Eve's cheek, down the column of her throat, to rest lightly against her chest. Just over her heart. "Will you keep watching me?"  


"Y-yes."  


She smiled. It almost looked genuine. It was a beautiful smile. "Do you promise?"  


"Um," Eve hesitated, confused. "Yes?"  


Without warning, Villanelle took a step back. Her hand dropped from Eve's skin. Her smile disappeared. "Then go keep watch. And don't send any more people to take my jobs." She shrugged. "Or I will kill them."  


She spared a glance toward the dead man, finally, taking in the bullets, the small puddle of dried blood. She sneered. "They are boring. His suit is more interesting than his death."  


Eve agreed. She pressed a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart, feeling the warmth of Villanelle's hand still on her skin. "They don't follow instructions very well," she said.  


Villanelle turned toward her, head cocked in that bird-like tilt she had. A smile played on the edges of her lips but she squashed it before it grew. "Is Eve your real name?"  


"Yes." Eve winced at the admission. "Is Villanelle yours?"  


"I don't know," Villanelle said, heading casually for the front door, easy confidence in her stride. She glanced back over her shoulder. "You tell me."


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve's obsession with Villanelle grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a four day weekend! Which doesn't mean much in the middle of quarantine except that I don't have to go to any video meetings or wake up on time. Which means I can stay up ridiculously late writing.

MI6 hallways were full of walk and talks. Some employees whispered behind oversized mugs and cupped hands. Others, like Elena, squealed their business loud enough for anyone to hear.  
She'd obviously missed the part in her contract that emphasized the importance of subtlety and secrecy.  


"You're telling me that you met her! Villanelle!"  


"Yes."  


"The assassin we've been hunting for months! Whose attention we've been trying to get! Who we've been trying to captu—"  


Eve stopped abruptly and turned on her heel to face her assistant. "Yes. Yes, okay, Elena. I met her."  


"And she didn't try to kill you!" Elena laughed, her voice high-pitched. Eve made impatient, grabby motions and Elena handed her a coffee cup. It was disgusting—something hazelnut flavored and sugary. She took a big gulp anyway. "That's bloody brilliant. I mean you still being alive, not you not capturing her. That bit's less so. Well? What was she like?"  


"She..." Eve hesitated.  


She'd barely had time to process what Villanelle was like in the few hours that had passed. She'd had paperwork to pass on and updates for Carolyn to draft. The part of her brain that was dedicated to thinking about Villanelle, admittedly a larger part than she would have liked, was still thawing from shock. She tried to jumpstart it into rational thought.  


"She was easier to figure out than I expected. She was familiar."  


"Familiar? What, like if she didn't kill people you two could be friends?"  


No, not like that. It was a complicated familiarity. Closer to inherent knowing than anything else. Like Eve had crawled into Villanelle's skin for a moment and pieced her together from the inside out. Or like there was a seed of Villanelle inside her own self that she'd let wither for fear that it would uproot the life she'd made with roots that extended too deep into the darkest parts of the earth.  


Eve said, "It's all in her eyes."  


"The secret to psychopathy?"  


"The reason for it. The heart of it."  


"Do psychopaths have hearts, though? I mean in the emotional sense?"  


Did they? Did Villanelle? Was killing as easy for her, as fun for her, as the bodies she left behind made it look? She didn't seem the type to agonize over details, but she took too much care, had too much flair, not to plan her murders. Eve wanted to know how she did it. Did she sit at a desk and write out what she would do, play by play? Did she act it out? Did she kill on an empty stomach or a full one? Did she pick and choose her targets?  


The young, cat-eyed assassin had told her to keep watching. Well, she would. She had to. Villanelle might like to watch people come undone but Eve preferred to know how they'd come together in the first place. It was what drew her to female assassins. To Villanelle.  


"Hello? Earth to Eve." Elena waved a hand in front of her face. "You're not going into, like, delayed shock, are you? Because my first aid training was like three years ago and I'm warning you, I will panic and throw this coffee in your face if you look like you're losing it."  


Laughing, Eve shook her head. "I'm fine. More than fine. Listen, ask Kenny to pull CCTV within five blocks of the crime scene this morning. Look for tall, lithe blonde women in the area, starting an hour before I arrived." She paused. "Actually, make that an hour before the team did. I think she was waiting for me."  


"That's what happens when you try to get an assassin's attention," the younger girl muttered into her coffee as she stood and headed for Kenny's cubicle. Louder, she teased, "We'll get right on the search for your girlfriend, Eve, don't you worry."  


Eve wasn't worried. She was excited. She'd found Villanelle. She'd _met_ her. Now she just needed to know who she actually was. 

"You know," Niko said, "some kids threatened to blow up the school in class today. They had a pretty detailed plan, too, though their formulas were a little off. At best they might've managed the classroom."  


Eve blinked a few times and looked up at him. She'd been staring blankly at the hot sauce on the middle of the table. "What?"  


"I was trying to figure out if you were paying attention. I guess I have my answer."  


"Sorry." She flashed a smile. "Just...thinking about work." Eve placed both forearms on the table and leaned toward her husband. "You know, women are the more calculated killers. Men usually kill out of lust but women kill for profit, or revenge. Villanelle's obviously in it for the money," no need to mention that she had told her that in person, "but that can't be why she got into it. Something must have driven her to it."  


Niko let out a weary sigh and sat back in his chair. Once Eve started talking work it meant nothing else was being discussed for the rest of the night. And that nothing else was happening either, not between the two of them.  


"Maybe she just likes killing," he suggested flatly.  


His wife waved the suggestion away with a hand. "Of course, she does. But before she started doing it, how would she have known that?"  


"I have no possible way of knowing that, Eve. And neither do you." He nodded toward the forgotten shepherd's pie on her plate. "Best to eat up and leave it for another day, hm?"  


She scowled. "You mean another day when there's another body?" She shook her head. "No, that won't work. I need to figure out who she is before then."  


"Isn't your job locking her up, not figuring out her motives? Don't they have other...people...for that?"  


"They don't know her like I do."  


"Oh? Should I be worried? Are you intimately familiar with killers now?"  


_More than you know_ , Eve thought.  


"Not nearly enough," she said. "I need to figure out who she is, Niko. Who she really is. It's the first step to ending this whole thing, I know it."  


What she didn't know was what "this whole thing" was. The murders? The constant surveillance? Her own obsession?  


"Or the first step to getting yourself killed."  


Eve didn't think Villanelle would kill her. It was a dangerous thought, believing she was somehow important, or at least intriguing, to a woman who killed people for money. She thought it anyway.  


"This is my job, Niko," she said. "It's important to me."  


At least, she meant to say it's important to me. What she actually said was, "Villanelle's important to me."  


He raised his eyebrows. "More important than your own life?" In the space he left for her to answer, Eve was silent. He shook his head. "Don't answer that. I'm going to clean up and then I'm off to bed."  


He stood and began clearing the table. "Come to bed when you're done thinking about female killers."

***

"Her name is Oksana Astankova," Kenny explained the next morning while Elena and Eve stared at the computer monitor over his shoulder. "From Moscow, born 1993. There was nothing remarkable I could find in her past. Definitely no murder charges. Not even any counts of shoplifting."  


On screen was an old yearbook photo of Villanelle. _Oksana_. Her hair was darker and her cheeks were rounder. She wasn’t smiling. The glint in her eyes was still there, though, like she was planning to do something exciting, and horrible, to the photographer.  


"So, what?" Elena asked. "She just woke up one day and decided to start killing people for the hell of it?"  


"As far as I can tell. Currently, she's on at least a dozen countries' radars and has nearly a hundred attributed kills under her belt since she started up, at least four years ago."  


"That's a lot of bodies for the length of a stint at uni," Elena chimed in.  


Kenny clicked away from Villanelle's photo. "There's no connection to the kills. No clear means or motive, no way that the victims relate to one another. We can chase her as long as we like, it's pinning her down that will be the issue."  


"Not if we figure out who she's working for," Eve murmured, deep in thought. Though the image on the screen was gone, Villanelle's face was still imprinted in her mind.  


Elena looked at her. "You think she's working for someone?"  


"I know she is. These aren't independent contracts, Villanelle would get bored with that. She doesn't care about the reason for the kills so she'd work for people who didn't bother telling her. Who paid her and left her to do what she wanted."  


"Right, well. It's not like we ring her up and ask."  


"Actually," Kenny piped up, fingers lightning fast on the keyboard, "we might be able to do better than that, if we wanted. I've been able to cross-reference her image with CCTV across the whole city. She's still in London and staying..." he clicked through a few screens, "in this apartment in West Brompton. We could send a team, bring her in and—"  


"No." By some strength of will, Eve managed to keep her voice calm. "I'll go."  


Elena and Kenny turned to stare at her in wide-eyed unison.  


"You're really testing your luck with the whole "her not killing you" thing, huh?" she said.  


"Carolyn won't like that," he warned.  


"She won't kill me," Eve assured them. "And we don't exist, according to Carolyn. She can't disapprove of a plan by a team that isn't real."  


"When you say team." Elena corrected, "you really mean you in this case. This isn't our bat shit idea."  


Eve glanced at Kenny and he nodded, solemn. She rolled her eyes. "If I die—"  


"Get offed by an assassin, y'mean," Elena said.  


" _If I die_ , you can give a speech saying I told you so at my funeral."  


"You're in luck, babe. Was already planning on it."  


Laughing, Eve turned to Kenny. She stood, already gathering her things and heading for the door. "Text me the directions. And the photo of her. While I'm gone, see if you can dig anything else up about Oksana. Primary school report cards, records of a loose tooth as a child, anything. I want to know it all."


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve is enamored with Villanelle's couch. Villanelle is enamored with Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this weekend has been spent in bed because, why not? Time means nothing anymore.

For housing a wanted assassin, Villanelle's apartment didn't have much security. There was no lobby, just a front door that required a keycode, or an elegant looking woman with a warm smile who held it open while Eve tried to act like she belonged and searched her purse for keys she didn't have. From there it was up the stairs and down the long hallway to apartment 12.  


There was nothing discerning about the front door to hint at the woman who lived behind it. Just a pale pink welcome mat and a lock that should have been easier to pick.  


Eve braced herself for something. A trap. Villanelle with a blade to her neck. Neither were forthcoming. All she got was a whiff of lightly floral-scented perfume and the lingering smell of sausages. Relaxing, she stepped further into the apartment. It was nearly as chic as she imagined. A chandelier in the kitchen, quartz countertops, crown molding and tray ceilings. Her couch was plush looking and jewel colored and Eve, for a moment, wanted nothing more than to sink into it. She could lie in wait for Villanelle there. Surprise the assassin like she'd surprised her. What she really wanted, though, was to take a nap.  


She allowed herself a moment's impulse as she walked over to the couch and lowered herself down on it. It was as plush as it looked, with a firmness that only added to its comfort. She may or may not have left out a low groan as she sank deeper, stretching herself across it.  


"If this is the type of luxury killing people affords," she murmured, "I would gladly kill a few."  


"Is that why you're here? To join me? If you beg nicely, I will consider it."  


Eve bolted upright, head swiveling toward the front door. Villanelle stood in the frame in all her perfectly dressed glory. She was wearing a casual suit, as if she were just getting home from work. It was plum purple, the pants perfectly tailored and tapered at the ankles, the jacket open to reveal a tank top with a sharp v leading down. Eve felt her face warm. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the other woman's face.  


Villanelle's smile was the blade of a knife, sharp and pleased. There was no surprise in it. She set down the colorful, expensive-looking shopping bags weighing down both her hands. "You know how to pick a lock."  


"I know how to do plenty of things."  


The assassin hummed in agreement. She moved with cat like grace, with the same mesmerizing stride, so that she was standing in front of Eve before the agent even realized it. Too late, too, she realized that she hadn't bothered to bring a weapon—or to go snooping for one in Villanelle's house. She'd been too easily seduced by the couch.  


She straightened her spine and tried to draw some authority into her voice. "And I know your real name, Oksana."  


Oksana—Villanelle—paused. Then she scrunched up her nose in distaste. "Oksana is dead. Terrible luck, horribly sad." She shrugged, flouncing onto the couch beside Eve. "She deserved it."  


Eve didn't flinch. She should have, maybe, with a trained killer sitting close enough to reach out and touch. But she didn't. "Why Villanelle?"  


Villanelle stretched a hand toward her, wrist up and offered. If Eve were a vampire, she might have been tempted to bite into the smooth, pale flesh. She shook her head at the thought and shot her a questioning look. Villanelle lifted her wrist higher. Eve caught the scent at once—that familiar floral smell. It was sweet and oddly delicate, with a hint of vanilla when it lingered.  


"It smells nice, no?"  


Eve nodded and faster than she could blink, Villanelle's hand was at her throat. Not gripping it, not choking her. No, her fingertips pressed lightly as they trailed down the column of her throat. Eve shivered.  


Villanelle leaned closer. "It makes a sweet final scent."  


Eve swallowed. She felt the pressure of the other woman's fingers as she did. Close enough to strangle her. Close enough to snap her neck. "That's nice of you."  


Without warning, Villanelle laughed. It was mirthful, almost youthful. Her hand fell from Eve's throat as she clapped her hands together in pleasure. "Eve! You make it so easy to kill you!"  


Eve took a deep breath and rubbed her neck reflexively. She couldn't find her voice to respond.  


Villanelle rose fluidly and walked over to the kitchen. She yanked open the fridge and peered inside. "Don’t look so scared. You’re a guest, I wouldn't kill you here. Do you want champagne?" She held a green bottle aloft and then lowered it with hum. "Or do you prefer tea?"  


"Tea is fine," Eve said hoarsely. It was ten in the morning.  


Villanelle went about the ritual of making tea while Eve contemplated her life choices. She could probably slip out while Villanelle was distracted, but she had no doubt that the trained killer could beat her to the door. She could text Kenny or Elena for backup, but there was nothing they could do to help her. Besides, she'd wanted to capture Villanelle and here they both were. She could get the answers she'd come for straight from the source itself if she played her cards right.  


Or...she could just get to know her. Murders and organizations who hired assassins and M16 aside.  


"So, you're from Russia. What was it like growing up there?"  


Villanelle shrugged. She poured the tea into delicate-looking teacups and carried them over with ease. Her hand lingered on Eve's when she handed it over. "Boring. Cold. I don't want to talk about boring, cold things."  


"What do you want to talk about?"  


"You." The bright-eyed assassin rested her head on her fist and focused the full force of her attention on Eve. "How is your husband? He has quite a mustache, does that make kissing him annoying? And your parents?" She smiled. "They're cute. Your mother looks like you; nice hair. Do you miss them since you are here and they are all the way in—”  


"Okay," Eve cut her off quickly. She wasn't the only one who could watch people. She got it. "What do you want?"  


Villanelle's smile was indulgent in its brilliance. "Come with me to my next job."  


"What?"  


"Come with me. You want to know how I do things."  


"No, I want to capture you. I want to bring you to justice."  


"Yet here you are and I'm not captured." She grinned. "I'm not even handcuffed. So, I don't think you want what you say you do. I can show you what you really want."  


Eve's heartbeat picked up speed. She took a sip of her tea, barely aware of how it scalded her tongue. "What do you think I want?"  


"Freedom. Excitement." Villanelle's eyes glinted. "Blood."  


Eve said, "I'm not going to watch you kill someone." She didn't say, _That's not what I want._  


Villanelle had the nerve to look offended. "I don't want you to watch. You watch enough. No, I want you to do it for me. You owe me, Eve."  


Eve sucked in a breath. She focused on keeping the tea from spilling onto her lap. "I don't owe you anything."  


Villanelle tsked. "You pretend to be an assassin," she put up a finger. "You steal my jobs." Another finger. "You break into my house." She pouts. "Those things are all rude. Any other person would pay with their life." Her lips curved up slowly. "But I like you, Eve. So, you can pay with someone else's."  


Villanelle was insane. Or, well, more insane than Eve thought or knew, if she really believed Eve would kill someone. Especially for no other reason, it seemed, than to please Villanelle.  


Her grip on her teacup tightened. "No." She braced herself for anger, but Villanelle didn't look angry. She looked disappointed.  


The languid assassin lounged over the curved arm of the couch, pouting. She looked like a spoiled, sulking house cat. "It would be fun! I could teach you. You could even choose to do it however you wanted." With long, stretching limbs and a fierce grip, Villanelle took Eve's face in her hands and tilted her head up until they were face to face. She ran her nails along the curve of Eve's cheek. "You want to know why I do this? See for yourself."  


Logically, Eve knew that the team back at MI6 had a pretty good profile on Villanelle. Combined with details of her past that Kenny dredged up, it wouldn't be too much work to piece it all together into a story that hinted at Villanelle's motivations. But she didn't want hints or guesses. She didn't want a piecemealed version of Villanelle. She wanted this one. The Villanelle gripping her face between soft hands that had been stained with blood hundreds of times over. The Villanelle who enticed her, who'd gotten to know her so quickly that she could whisper to those darker parts of Eve that she rarely shone a light at herself. Elena didn't know her this way. Kenny didn't. Even Niko didn't.  


"Tell me what it's like first," she whispered.  


Villanelle shook her head. Her expression might have been serious were it not for the light in her eyes. "Tell me what it's like after." She leaned forward until her lips were nearly touching Eve's. Until they shared the same breath. "You don't want to hurt my feelings. Say yes, Eve."  


No. Her heart pounded the word into her ribcage with every beat: _No, no, no._ She wouldn't ruin her life, destroy her conscience, end her career for this woman. For this assassin. Not even for the chance to get inside her head.  


Eve swallowed. Her hands tingled.  


But she might do it for the chance to get deeper into her own.  


She shut her eyes. Let that dark pit she ignored by focusing on work and domestic life yawn as wide and as loudly as it wanted to. It consumed her slowly, warily. And then all at once. Like she’d leaned too far forward and dropped straight into a freefall.  



	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things happen in a morgue that absolutely shouldn't happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have written this entire fic just to get to this chapter. I should or should not be asleep right now.

Somehow, Eve hadn't expected the first murder she committed to be in a morgue. Honestly, she'd thought it would happen on a crowded tube platform or at a fish and chip shop where the chips weren't crispy enough for the long line it had or the wait time it boasted.  


"Why are we at a hospital morgue?" she asked quietly. She slinked behind Villanelle like her shadow, only their clasped hands keeping Eve from stumbling in the dark. "I thought we were here to kill someone."  


"We are. A morgue is as good a place to die as anywhere else."  


A thrill went through Eve at the reminder. She was going to be responsible for someone's death. The thought shouldn't have excited her as much as it did. It was, she supposed, what Villanelle felt with her every kill. Though she doubted it was as tinged with as much guilt as she was currently feeling. It was a weird sensation, guilt and excitement and anxiety combined. And yet she wasn't worried about the morals behind what she was going to do. Everyone was going to die. Some people would just die sooner than others.  


And wasn't death at someone else's hand more exciting than a car accident or dying of old age anyway? It was more thrilling than most people's lives, even.  


Villanelle had asked how she wanted to end things. Eve had chosen a knife. Something serrated and sharp. Sharp enough to slit a throat or cut out a heart. Villanelle had smiled proudly and then wrapped her hand around her wrist, guiding Eve's hand to her neck. The knife's teeth rested lightly against her skin. "Will you cut him open fast or slow?"  


Eve could have cut Villanelle open. Let her bleed out on her own floor or on that plush, gorgeous couch. She might even get promoted if she did. Commended. She'd have stopped an assassin and wasn't that, after all, her job?  


But she didn't. She'd let the fantasy linger another moment in the charged air between them and then slipped the sheath from Villanelle's hand and stuck the knife inside.  
She said, "Fast."  


Now, as Eve caught sight of their target, she reconsidered her plan. She thought she would memorize every inch of the first person she intended to kill. She realized quickly that wasn't the case. She got a glimpse of shoulder-length dark hair and a chipped front tooth before her mind went dark. Everything that had been anxious in her before went placid. She wondered if this was what nirvana was: ultimate calm. Pure focus.  


Villanelle's breath tickled her ear. "Kill him," she whispered.  


Eve moved with more purpose than she'd felt in her life. Her feet guided her toward the man and before he could speak a word, she sprung.  


She wasn't sure which of them yelled.  


There was euphoria and blood. The wrenching apart of her soul and blood. A new, darker, lovelier state of being and blood. There was blood and blood and blood. And she loved every bit of it. How it dripped in perfect droplets from her fingers, how it dried in dark streaks on her hands, how it pooled and coagulated on stark white tile that she could see her reflection in.  


She barely focused on the body. It didn't interest her beyond the usual curiosities—how he'd died—and she knew how that had happened already. She'd made it happen.  


And she felt…transcendent. Her every nerve tingled with electricity until she felt like a lightning storm.  


She needed to feel grounded. She reached for Villanelle without thought and pulled the assassin—the _other_ assassin, now—to her.  


"That was—" Villanelle began, praise on her lips. Eve sucked it from her lips, devouring it and her in a kiss that pulled the world off-kilter.  


If Eve's own ferocity surprised her, Villanelle's was sharper and fiercer. She took Eve's face in her hands and slid them up until they were fisted in her hair. She kissed her harder, deeper, pulling on her bottom lip roughly as she backed her up against the wall. Or what she thought was the wall.  


Eve pulled back with immense effort to look at the long row of lockers. Inside each of them was a body, someone who had died or been killed. And there were dozens of those lockers, dozens of those people. People who were all but frozen until they could be cremated or killed.  


"I want," she breathed. There was nothing coherent about her thoughts. She tugged on the nearest locker door. Locked. She tried another. "I want," she repeated more forcefully.  


Villanelle, breathing heavily by her side, tugged on another. They went down the line, tugging until they met somewhere in the middle and a door opened under their touch. Carefully, Eve pulled out the long metal table, wincing as it screeched loudly. The smell of formaldehyde and rust mixed with the metallic smell of blood. Somehow it only excited her further.  


She hopped up on the slab for the dead and laid back, crossing her arms over her chest. She grinned up at Villanelle. "Do I make a convincing corpse?"  


"No," Villanelle said, leaning down to brush Eve's lips with her own. "There's too much life left in your eyes."  


She kissed her deeply, thoroughly, and those eyes full of life fluttered shut. Minutes could have passed. Or years. All Eve knew was that she had never been so forcefully kissed.  


"Eyes open."  


Villanelle's voice was a command. Clipped, sharp. It made Eve's breath come faster.  


Villanelle climbed atop the morgue slab, not bothering to test if it could carry her additional weight first. Her palm was warm where it splayed on Eve's chest. The longer it lingered, the hotter it felt. It was candle hot. Oven hot. Branded-with-someone's-initials hot. It inched upward in degrees until her fingers were loose around the other woman's neck. A thumb on one pulse point, her ring finger on the other. Life at her fingertips. Thrumming wildly.  


"Eyes open for me, Eve."  


Eve made a noise that was not a moan because she did not moan. Would not moan. Control over her voice was easy. Control over her heart harder.  


Her pulse spiked—thrumming wilder, still. Death was inherently, sensually, close. She wanted to taste it on her tongue. She wanted it to taste her.  


Eve kept her eyes shut. Defiance in her core.  


Villanelle tightened her grip, just enough for Eve's lips to part in an exhale. She used her pointer finger to tilt her head up and back. If Eve had her eyes open, they would have met. Villanelle wanted them _open_. Slowly, she drew back the hand that was not wrapped around Eve's throat. The one she had buried somewhere far warmer and more intimate. Eve followed that hand with a buck of her hips, squirming as Villanelle's grip tightened and her hand traveled further and further away from where it had been causing so much pleasure. Back above the waistband of her panties, fingertips trailing down her inner thigh and up toward her knee...  


Eve's eyes sprung open with a gasp. She couldn't bring herself to beg for what she wanted, but she wanted. _God_ , how she wanted.  


And Villanelle could tell. Eve saw that much in her heavy-lidded, sharp-eyed expression. It was like she was concentrating on Eve's every reaction. No, not concentrating. _Memorizing_. The thought of Villanelle at home replaying the hitch in her breathing, every pained, pleased expression, made the fire throbbing at Eve's core burn brighter. It was all-consuming, that fire. And Villanelle threatened to put it out, as surely as she had ignited it.  


The assassin didn't return her hand and Eve didn't ask her to. Instead, Villanelle caressed the side of her throat with her thumb, trailing it up and down. She leaned close, red lips brushing the pale skin against Eve's jaw, just under her ear.  


"I could crush your windpipe," she whispered. "Fracture the cartilage in your larynx. These things would not kill you, but they would be fun for me." She lowered her face closer until she was nuzzled into Eve's neck. She breathed in deep. "You would have no voice. All you could do was moan. Or," she stretched the word out in her mouth like taffy, "you could moan for me on your own."  


Eve's heart stuttered in her chest. She was lightheaded with want. Still, she gripped the cold steel of the mortuary table beneath her, letting it soothe her overheated body. "Make me."  


Villanelle laughed. It was all air, a huff of amusement. "Oh, Eve. You shouldn't ask for things you can't handle."  


Quickly, much too quickly for Eve's eyes to catch, a knife separated her body from Villanelle's. It was thin, with an intricately carved handle, from what Eve could see of it. Its tip pressed just below the hollow of her throat made it hard to see much. Cold steel bit into her skin and pressed hard against the bones of her sternum. Villanelle ran it along the length of Eve's collarbone. A whisper of a caress.  


A thrill pulsed upward from Eve's core and spread warmth into her chest.  


"You gonna kill me in a morgue?" There was too much heat in her voice to be teasing. Too much excitement to be fear.  


Villanelle grinned. Her knife dipped lower, circling the sensitive skin of Eve's breast. "You're already on the table. I might as well split you open to get what I want out of you."  


She flicked her wrist and blood bloomed in a thin, bright line against Eve's skin. Eve sucked her lower lip between her teeth quickly, cutting off her sharp inhale.  


Villanelle's eyes went to her face. They lingered first on her lips and then up to her eyes. She could see intensity in them. Desire. The slightest bit of fear. She could see herself reflected in those deep brown eyes. She'd brought Eve this far, pulled her over the edge and into freefall with her.  


She wondered where Eve would lead her. How much deeper they could go together.  


Villanelle lowered her head and traced the line she’d carved in Eve with her tongue.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle aren't quite living happily ever after, but they're having plenty of fun. Problem is, Eve's got blood on the brain. She's more than eager to kill again and Villanelle is content to let her. But how much murder is too much, really? And when does it start to have consequences?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers but...season 3 is blessing us, yeah? I honestly could have ended this last chapter and I have no clue how long this will go on (so if you've got ideas lay em on me in the comments!) but this is fun and I just finished my MFA thesis and I need some fanfic in my life, okay? Indulge me.

Eve was...insatiable. Where Villanelle grew bored and moved quickly to the next thing, Eve craved. She wanted. And unlike boredom, appeased by anything new, wanting was not so easily satisfied. And so, she sulked. She had not left a life, a career, a husband behind to go shopping in Paris and kill only when she was told to.  


"Why don't you just kill whomever you want?" she asked, catching her breath beside Villanelle.  


They were on the floor in the living room, caught in the glow of fading sunlight spilling in through giant windows. The bedroom was a few feet away but they never had sex there. There was nothing fun about a plush mattress and soft sheets. Not when there were morgue tables and concrete floors and hotel balconies to spice things up.  


Eve took a lock of golden hair and twirled it around her fingers. "Don't you like it?" She tugged. "Don't you hate being told what to do?"  


Villanelle turned her head and nipped at Eve's fingers with brilliantly white teeth. "I like being paid. Nice things make me happy." She stroked a hand down Eve's hip. "I don't care enough to be the one to pick who dies; I just like watching them die."  


Eve's pulse spiked with excitement. She sat up quickly, her eyes bright. "So, let me pick. Forget the Twelve. We can travel together, kill whoever we want, do whatever we want..." she let her voice and the fantasy it conjured linger. She lowered her head to press a kiss to the assassin's throat.  


"Think about it. No one telling you what to do," Eve kissed her collarbone, "or where to go," she kissed one breast, "or how to kill." She kissed the other breast, tugging lightly with her teeth.  


Villanelle sucked in a breath. Practicality bored her, especially when Eve was being so alluring. But she liked her job. She wouldn't quit it under duress, even when that duress felt a lot like pleasure. "And where would we get the money to travel, mm?"  


Eve continued the slow descent down her body. "You have money, don't you?"  


Sure, she did. She had plenty. But the point of having money was to spend it recklessly and wildly, not waste it on the practicalities of life like travel and shelter. The Twelve did that for her now. All she had to do for them was end a few lives.  


Eve's mouth paused right above the place it was wanted most. Villanelle huffed in irritation but Eve didn't relent. "Fine. Say you stayed with the Twelve. What if we just did some...freelance jobs of our own?"  


"If I say yes," Villanelle growled, "will you continue?"  


Eve lowered her head, lips ghosting over Villanelle's skin. "Say yes, first."  


Villanelle clenched her jaw tight but the heat flaring through her burned brighter than her irritation. "Yes."  


Eve kept her promises. And she was prolific in showing her excitement.

***

Eve almost felt like she was back working at MI6 again. Except instead of hunting down assassins she was looking for someone to assassinate. She let herself pause, hands hovering over her keyboard, as she waited for some sort of realization to kick in. She'd done a 180, after all. Become the thing she'd hunted, craved the person she should have hated. But nothing was forthcoming. She didn't feel worried or upset or horrified. She just felt...eager. Hungry.  


She thought back weeks ago, to her first kill. The man was faceless in her memory but the blade of her knife sinking into his skin was crystal clear. It had been tougher than she'd expected it to be. Less like cutting into a steak and more like carving her initials into a tree. Skin wasn't the issue. That parted easily, like tissue paper beneath her knife. It was the muscle that was harder, like gristle, and bones that her knife sharpened itself against as she'd carved up from his stomach to his chest. Her hands had shook and the handle of the knife had grown slick with blood...  


Eve licked her lips. Her heart pounded. There was something about death, about murder, that thrilled her. Even the potential of it was intoxicating.  


Shaking herself, she dove back into her search. Finding people was the easy part—it was deciding which one to kill that was hard. She wondered how the Twelve did it. If they chose indiscriminately or just for fun, for political gain or to piss people off. She'd have to decide her own reason for killing. Maybe that'd make it easier.  


Researching, as it turned out, wasn't the way to go. Eve realized that quickly on a stroll from a nearby park back to Villanelle's apartment. It only took a glimpse of the woman for her to decide. Copper-haired, sweet-smiling. Eve wondered what her smile might look like stretched into a scream instead. She imagined blood staining the woman's hair a brighter red.  


"I want her," Eve murmured to Villanelle. Her eyes were still stuck on the woman. Villanelle followed her gaze and smirked, raising an eyebrow.  


"We can have her. Few women say no to me, not even you."  


Eve would have rolled her eyes if they hadn't been so fixed on the woman. "No," she said, "I _want_ her." As in want her dead. As in want to watch her die.  


Villanelle widened her eyes in mock surprise. "Well, we can't do it now, Eve. There are people around."  


That time Eve did roll her eyes. She elbowed the blonde woman in the ribs. "Go ask her out then."  


Villanelle grinned smugly as she readjusted her collar and fixed her hair. "Will you be jealous?"  


"Do you want me to be?" Eve was standing close enough that she could see the possessive sparkle in Villanelle's eyes as she spoke, "Of course I do."  


"Then consider me jealous. Now go," Eve commanded, hands flat on her back as she urged her forward, "before she leaves."

***

Eve was a little jealous. She was vaguely jealous as Villanelle charmed the woman with smiles and caresses. She was more so when the woman took Villanelle's hand and followed her back to the apartment. She was outright irritated when Villanelle met Eve's eyes from her hiding spot behind a curtain before kissing the woman deeply.  


Eve had wanted blood. She'd planned to use any of the half dozen sharp knives in the kitchen. But in the moment, all she wanted was for the woman not to have enough breath in her lungs to keep kissing Villanelle. So, it was barely anything to slip the sheer pink curtain from its rod, twist it into a rope in her hands, slip it around the woman's neck, and pull. The first choked gasp she gave was satisfying, the succeeding panic was more so.  


As Eve tightened her makeshift noose around the woman's neck, tugging her backward, Villanelle watched with bright, careful eyes. The woman had been a good kisser but the way her lips opened and closed in a gasp were better than her kiss had been. Her face changed colors rapidly—red with her passion and then white with shock and now blue with lack of oxygen. Even the way she looked at Villanelle, shocked, pleading, so beautifully terrified, might have held so much appeal if it weren't for Eve. Her face was lit with joy. Sometime between the street and her time behind the curtain, she'd let her hair down. The dark mass curled gloriously around her face and against her shoulders. It shook like something alive as Eve put all of her strength into strangling the woman. It took a while, longer than it should have, Villanelle would have to help her with that later, but Eve smiled the entire time. She only let her grip grow slack when the woman's knees buckled. Eve slowly lowered her to the ground, makeshift noose and all.  


And then Villanelle was on her in an instant, lips on hers hard enough to bruise hard. Eve let herself be forced back until she bumped into a wall, inhaling sharply as Villanelle's lips left hers to press against her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. Eve let pleasure course through her veins and tilted her head just slightly until the woman's body was in sight. There was no blood, which was a pity, but the woman's face had gone white; blue in the lips that had been so recently on Villanelle's. It was a beautiful contrast against the red of her hair and the pink of the curtain still wrapped tightly around her throat. Eve pulled Villanelle closer, lowering her mouth to bite back a moan into the skin of Villanelle's shoulder.  


"So freelance, huh?" she murmured.  


Villanelle's breath was hot against her chest. Eve could feel the rumble of her voice as she spoke. "Is it what you expected?"  


No assignments. No rules. Just a gut feeling and an impulse and the thrill of taking a life.  


"No," Eve breathed. "It's so much better."


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, there are consequences. Especially when mysterious murderous organizations and secret government societies are involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a chapter. And then my computer shut down suddenly and deleted it. Then I fumed for a week and rewrote it. So here's chapter 7, attempt #2! And, yes, I still mourn those lost words.

Golden light filtered into the hotel room through pale curtains and Eve woke with a luxurious stretch that matched the luxury of the room around her. They were in Belgium. She had killed someone last night and Villanelle had taken her on the balcony and done things to her that made her quiver, moaning loud enough that anyone passing by on the street below could have heard her. If anyone had, she hadn't noticed. She hadn't cared. Her life was unrecognizable from what it had been only weeks ago. It was better than she'd dared imagine.  
Since the first kill, she'd lost track of how many people it had been but the methods stayed stuck in her mind. So far, she'd killed in the following ways:  


\- Slit a throat  
\- Tossed someone off a balcony  
\- Shooting (the least fun. Plenty of blood but not much else)  
\- An axe to the back  


There was no real rhyme or reason to why she chose the people she did except that they reminded her, in some way, of her old life. There was a man with Niko's facial hair and a woman whose haircut reminded her of Carolyn. There had been a woman with a posh British accent and another whose laugh had reminded her of Elena. But Villanelle didn't let her have all the fun, of course. She chose, and killed, too. But her choices had a pattern. Nothing as obvious as hair color or gender or fashion sense. No, she chose the ones who smiled the brightest, whose flash of perfect white teeth were visible at a distance.  


The lights in their eyes, she'd said, took longer to dim.  


Eve would be lying if she said that didn't scare her, just a little. But that was part of Villanelle's appeal. She excited Eve as much, and as easily, as she frightened her. And Eve _liked_ being frightened. She liked how it sent a spark down her spine. How her heart hammered and her every nerve ending stood on edge. She thought of last week and the man Villanelle had killed. How casually she'd knelt by the puddle of his blood and pressed her palm into the middle of it like a child learning to finger paint. She'd kept her eyes locked on Eve's as she stood and drew closer, reached up to wrap her bloody hand around Eve's pale throat, staining it red. Marking her. _Claiming_ her.  


Eve shivered in bed and brought a hand to her throat. She smiled at the memory. She rolled onto her side, looking over at the empty side of the bed. Villanelle had left early. She was out murdering someone, or else grabbing breakfast. As if the thought had summoned her, Eve heard the sound of the hotel key tapping against the lock, the door opening. She stretched again, spread eagle beneath the plush white comforter, her eyes on the ceiling. She smelled the deep roast of freshly brewed coffee, the sweet smell of liege waffles. Her mouth watered.  


"You're back," she said happily, still staring up at the ceiling. "I was thinking, V, we could—"  


"Text your husband to let him know how you're doing? He worries, you know."  


Eve froze. She sat up slowly, not bothering to wrap the blankets around her bare chest. "Konstantin."  


"He thinks you're on a mission," the white-haired man continued, pulling out the chair from the desk across the bed and sinking into it. "Something classified; dangerous. Or so MI6 told him. You think he believes them?"  


"No."  


Konstantin tsked. "So, he knows you, at least a little. Enough to think you're running around playing at murderer?"  


Also no. Niko knew a different version of her. The version she'd presented herself as: tame, if not exactly complacent. A life full of leftover shepherd's pie and restrained obsessions. A life of sex as something half-remembered and reluctantly participated in, not something that happened on a balcony in full view of anyone walking by, with blood on her skin and lips. So, sure, Niko might think she was somewhere being reckless and irresponsible. But he didn't think her capable of murder. It wasn't in him to process something like that.  


"Why are you here, Konstantin? Where's Villanelle?" Tossing her legs over the side of the bed in a fluid motion, Eve strode over and grabbed his coffee before he could take a sip. She chugged half of it and licked her teeth, grimacing. It was surprisingly sweet. Hazelnut-y. She barely tasted the whiskey she'd known was in there. She frowned at him.  


He shrugged. "Hazelnut creamer. I like a bit a sweet." He looked her over and then averted his eyes. "Will you get dressed?"  


Eve didn't bat an eye. Modesty was beyond her now. She'd never much enjoyed it to begin with. "Will you tell me where she is?"  


Konstantin sighed like she was asking too much of him. "In London. Working." When her glare didn't let up, he frowned, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "She is like a child. Ruled by whims, easily bored. Are you surprised she left you? Cat and mouse games are no fun once the cat devours the mouse." He raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Or once the mouse gives herself up willingly to be devoured."  


"She didn't leave me," Eve said. She wouldn't.  


"Then why are you here and she is not?"  


That...was a good question. It struck a chord of anxiety in Eve that echoed like a plucked guitar string, but only for a moment. "She'll be back." Whether she was somewhere in Belgium or all the way in London, that much was true.  


Konstantin spread his hands in acquiescence. "Maybe," he agreed. "But you won't be here."  


"What—"  


He sighed and rifled through his pants packet like a man standing by a fountain searching for change. Instead of a quarter, though, he took out a gun. Small. Compact. Almost cute. Or it would have been had he not pointed it at her. "Orders," he said, vaguely apologetic. "Higher up. You know how it goes."  


The funny part was that Eve did. She sighed. "Will you at least let me get dressed?"  


He considered the request a moment, then gestured toward her small travel bag with the gun. "Be quick. I don't want to shoot a naked woman, but I will if you make me."  


"Would it be the first time?" she asked as she moved carefully toward her clothes. She had a knife in her bag but it wouldn't be much help against a gun. She couldn't move faster than a bullet.  


Konstantin's laugh was boisterous. It made him likeable, even in such an unlikeable situation. "Not even the second." His gaze sharpened as he watched her. "Women are fearless when they're naked."  


Eve thought of Villanelle. Naked and bloody and grinning ferally under a crescent moon. "More than you know," she agreed.

***

Villanelle was, in fact, in London. She spared a bored glance around the cafe she was in, eyes flicking dismissively over the customers. The short woman with a blonde bob sitting at the counter. The ugly little girl blowing bubbles in her tea with a plastic straw. The man wearing sunglasses inside, trying to look important, who kept shooting her flirty looks. She bared her teeth at him in a smile that was only just a little too wolfish. He looked away.  


Humming in satisfaction, she lifted her eyes to the woman approaching her. She was old, with short red-brown hair. Villanelle had seen her before. She had been Eve's boss. She was quietly vicious, in a no-nonsense way that reminded Villanelle a little of a teacher and a lot of a killer. She liked her. She sat up a little taller.  


"Villanelle. Thank you for your punctuality." The woman slid into the booth with ease, folding her hands on the tabletop. "I'm Carolyn. I won't waste your time, so do me the same courtesy and tell me where Eve is."  


"Eve is fine."  


"Lovely to hear. It tells me nothing of her whereabouts."  


Villanelle frowned. "What do you want with her?"  


"That is between she and I."  


Villanelle arched a blonde eyebrow. "And all of MI6?"  


"Something like that. My main concern, at this moment, is that she is alive."  


Villanelle pouted. She sulked well, crossing her arms and sinking lower into her chair. Petulance at its finest. It let her get a glimpse of the microphone tucked neatly into the seams of Carolyn's skirt. "I told you, she's fine."  


"Excuse me if I don't believe that you can be trusted."  


Villanelle grinned. "Then why invite me here?"  


Carolyn was silent. Her eyes roamed over Villanelle's face with all the intensity of a touch. Villanelle watched her, fascinated. She felt herself being taken in, digested, spit out. She felt like she was at a carnival, preparing to get her fortune told by a strange looking woman weighed down with silk scarves and costume jewelry. The only difference was that Carolyn was all neutral-colored blazer and tasteful gold earrings.  


"She believes she cares for you," Carolyn said finally. "To the point of obsession and despite all reason. I wanted to see why for myself." She hummed low in her throat. "I admit, there is a...electricity to you. Magnetic. Dangerous."  


The older woman leaned back in her seat with a sigh. "But not nearly enough to make her uproot her life so swiftly. You're a means to an end, then."  


The warmth filling Villanelle at her words froze immediately. Storm clouds gathered, darkening her expression. "A means to an end," she repeated, affecting the woman's accent and dry tone.  
"You taught her to kill, I presume." At Villanelle's silence, Carolyn nodded decisively. "That's what she wanted then. Not you."  


A mirthful laugh burst from between Villanelle's lips. She thought of Eve beneath her—wanting. Squirming with want. Groaning for it. She grinned. "She could want both."  


"Yes, yes," Carolyn agreed dismissively. "What I want is your help in bringing her back."  


"No."  
Carolyn arched her eyebrows. "Don't you want to know why?"  


"No." She didn't care why. Whether the reason was to arrest Eve or have her working again, both whys took her away from Villanelle. And she hadn't come this far to let Eve slip away from her grasp now.  


"She's in danger."  


"From you."  


"From _you._ And from the Twelve."  


Villanelle stiffened. She relaxed a second later, but it was too late. She'd already given herself away. Carolyn looked vaguely pleased at her reaction. "Did you think they would let you do as you wanted, so long as you kept killing who they told you to? Did you think they would share?"  


Villanelle clenched her jaw. "How do you know?"  


"I know more about most things than I likely should. So. Where is Eve?"  


A headache pounded behind her eyes. It made her vision swim and her head throb. Eve was in Belgium. Eve was fine. But if she wasn't...? She shook her head. What could this woman do that Villanelle could not? This woman knew things, but she doubted she had ever killed anyone herself. She couldn't keep Eve safe. Only Villanelle could.  


But Villanelle was there, in London. Where the Twelve had sent her. And Eve was all the way in Belgium. Where she'd left her. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands to keep herself from trembling with rage. She ground out an answer from between clenched teeth.  


"Eve," she said, "is in Belgium."  


By then, Eve was—unbeknownst to Villanelle—not in Belgium.


End file.
